Asbury Park in April
The day is grey
A wash of darkness covers the sky
as you walk.
Up ahead there is someone walking.
Like you, they stroll aimless
were it not for the roadway of grey boardwalk,
weather washed and precisely placed,
a perfect match for sky and sea.
It is off season.
Off season, which explains why
there is only you and the distant stranger
walking the planks.
Come summer, there will be madness here,
a cacophony of colorful sun dwellers and drunks,
all here for escape and remembrance.
Music will pour out of the boarded up bars
and the bright colored bathing suits will shine in the sun,
part of the scenery, blending with the street art on each wall.
This suits you better. Off season, with nothing to distract you
from the drabness, a match for your grey soul, content
with the empty places and the long straight path,
where everything is under repair,
like you, not ready for the summer,
but on its way.
About this poem
I was in Asbury Park yesterday morning. My first trip there, and in April. I liked it. Particularly, I think, in the off season.